


Into a White and Soundless Place

by cm (mumblemutter)



Category: Thor (Movies), Thor - All Media Types
Genre: Age Difference, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Big Bang Challenge, Character Death, Implied Incest, Jotunheim, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-11-03
Updated: 2013-11-03
Packaged: 2017-12-31 09:05:52
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 11,930
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1029852
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/mumblemutter/pseuds/cm
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>Love, love will lead you by the hand -</i>
</p>
            </blockquote>





	Into a White and Soundless Place

**Author's Note:**

> A million thanks to [Carthl](http://carthl.tumblr.com) for her truly amazing artwork. Thank you, thank you, thank you; it wildly surpassed all expectations.
> 
> Another million thanks to [Lassiter](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Lassiter) for her thorough beta and helpful comments. ♥ If this story is still somewhat lacking, it's not her fault.
> 
> A fanmix by A. is available [at 8tracks](http://8tracks.com/uphill/love-love-will-lead-you-by-the-hand).

_Thor remembers little from the early days of his life. Only flickers of memory from before he came to Jotunheim, and from after, only bits and pieces, some puzzles that do not make a whole._

_An intense loneliness, perhaps. A profound sense of loss, but of what he knows not. Mostly, he remembers being surrounded by giants, a small pink-fleshed boy in a sea of frost and ice. And the king, the smallest of the Jotuns, holding out his hand and telling him, "You are my brother, Thor."_

_Eventually he left behind all but the vaguest of memories: Once he was a son of Asgard. Once he had a brother._

_Now he has another one, and he is the king of Jotunheim, and his name is Loki._

  

*

  

[](http://whateverish.org/stuff/soundlessplace/Bang_Loki_web.jpg)

  

*

  

#### (Now)

They have barely enough forces, barely enough strength. A dying empire in a wasted land, for all of Loki's efforts. Helblindi says, with a tinge of worry in her voice, "Are you sure, my liege." She only calls him that when she is uncertain of his actions. "Thor is barely grown. Perhaps a more experienced warrior -"

"No. I have seen him -"

"Yes?"

"He will be fine," Loki says. "There is no-one quite like my brother, Helblindi. You must have faith."

Thor is young, blood hungry, and Loki expects swift victory. It is anything but, but a victory is still that. 

His brother, his general, marching fearless into battle. 

He returns barely conscious, wounded but alive. Loki sends a magpie out, watches through its eyes Thor's slow progress, surrounded by giants and slumped on a bear whose coat is tacky with drying blood. The magpie lands on Thor's shoulder. Thor lifts his head only briefly to growl at it.

"What do you see," Helblindi asks. 

Loki joins her on the balcony, where nothing approaches, nothing breaks the barren landscape of sleet and ice. "I see the future," Loki tells her. "I see our future."

When Thor finally makes it past the gates, Loki is waiting for him on the throne, fingers dug into its ice-cold arms. This is not the throne he wanted: he never wanted to be king of any realm to begin with. And yet here they are.

Thor kneels before him, and here they are.

"My liege," he says.

  

#### (Then)

Loki puts him in an armor of the deepest black, to match his black coverings. The cloak is of a rich red, and when Thor asks him why, Loki doesn't respond. 

"I can be seen from miles away in the snow," Thor complains.

"And you wish to hide yourself from your enemies in Jotunheim?" Loki's jaw tightens. "I wish them to see you coming, so they will know fear." His fingers graze Thor's temple briefly. "I have forged a helmet for you."

It is black as well, deep and pure. "Feathers?" Thor asks, turning it over in his hands. It is heavy, the weight reassuring, the metal icy cold.

"Yes," Loki replies, and doesn't say more. He takes the helmet from Thor, pushes it down over his head. "There," he says, the pleasure rich in his voice. "Now you are almost ready."

"Almost?"

"You do need a weapon."

Thor wraps his fingers around his sword, tucked safely into its scabbard at his side. "I have a weapon."

"Not quite what I had in mind." His eyes take on a distant cast. The helmet is too hot on Thor's head suddenly, an almost oppressive heat. He fumbles with it, wrenches it off. Loki's gaze focuses on him, the distance shifting into displeasure. He only says though, slowly, "A hammer, I feel, would suit you well."

"I like my sword."

His wishes are ignored, as always, but it is a while before Loki returns with the hammer, forged, he says, by the dwarves themselves. Thor does not ask what it cost him. It is as black as his helmet, as black as his armor, and nothing has felt more perfect in his hand. "Infused with magic," Loki tells him, and the trapped power of a dying star. "It is yours," he whispers into Thor's ear.

Thor lifts it up into the sky and the thunder, a song Thor could always hear like no other, comes crashing down into it and courses through his body, a power that leaves him almost staggering under its force. When he lowers it, finally, he says, "Thank you." 

He kneels in servitude, and Loki touches the crown of his head, says, "You are ready."

  

#### (Now)

Thor pores calmly over plans while Loki paces. "I know what's coming, and yet they would defer to you rather than me."

"Firstly," Thor replies, "Unless you are a seer, I cannot imagine how you would know what is to occur. Secondly, they do not defer to me. I lead them into battle. But they are your warriors. The kingdom thrives under your reign. You should not question their loyalty to you."

"Do not tell me what I should and should not question. You, of them all." He tilts his head, and bares his teeth, and finally Thor lifts his head.

Says warily, wearily, "Are we to do this again, then?"

"I am not mad, I just simply cannot be expected to operate when betrayal lurks around every corner. I should pull out the dissidents, have them punished for all to see."

"You will do no such thing." He grabs Loki's arms and stills him, and Loki intends to snap at him for daring, but instead he just stares, wide-eyed and caught. "You are our king, and you are my brother. If you doubt any man's loyalty, do not doubt mine."

"Unhand me," Loki says, but his voice sounds weak to his own ears.

"Calm yourself," Thor squeezes his arms briefly before releasing him. "There is much work to do, and it will not be done without you."

  

#### (Then)

Thrym says, "Your brother is here."

Thor feints, drops to his knees and crawls underneath Thrym's legs to rise up behind him. His speed and strength are the only advantages he has against the giants. "So, he comes to see if I am ready."

"Are you ready, my prince?" Thrym turns, and just like that, Thor is flying across empty space, landing with a soft thump on tightly packed snow. He can hear a snicker: Helblindi's amusement, and Loki's sigh of disappointment. Thor leaps to his feet, hurtles back towards Thrym, who is braced, but not braced enough.

Not for the likes of Thor.

When Thrym is on his back, and Thor is holding out one hand to help him up, he grins. "I am ready. I have always been ready."

Thrym laughs and takes Thor's hand, allowing himself to be pulled up. "If only arrogance won wars, we would rule the nine, on the might of your giant ego alone."

"My ego befits my skills." Thor turns, expecting Loki to be pleased, but he is deep in conversation with Helblindi, and ignores Thor until Thor is almost upon him. Then he looks surprised, and unimpressed.

"You should have won that battle quicker."

"But Thrym is -"

"Experienced, and skilled. And you, merely a child pretending to be a warrior. I see that now."

Thor gapes at him.

"Do not be too harsh on him," Thrym says, coming up from behind Thor to stand next to him. "He is ready to lead us into glorious battle."

Loki merely snorts. But then he says, "I suppose we shall see soon enough, won't we?"

"Do we march against Svartalfheim then," Thor asks, and cannot keep the surprise out of his voice. It has been too long, while Loki claims that he is moving pieces into place, forcing Thor to wait when he would go out and forge onward. Impatient, Loki would say. Impudent, arrogant, impulsive. 

"Soon," Loki says, and his smile is grim. "Soon enough." He turns, but pauses, almost as an afterthought. "My chambers, Thor. But do clean yourself up first. You are filthy."

"Yes, my liege," Thor says, and bows before he takes his leave.

  

#### (Now)

It is summer in Svartalfheim: heat and dust and a malaise that affects even Loki, ensconced in a tent in the heart of their camp, fortified with magic. 

And yet they have no choice but to press forward. They have the slightest of advantages, and cannot take the risk that the dark elves will gather their forces, regroup.

Thor pokes his head into the tent, while Loki is being fed exotic fruits by Amora. She visits whenever she is bored, and she is bored often. Loki cannot begrudge her; they are so similar, after all.

"Thor," she says, with some delight. "Do join us."

Thor thumps his helmet onto a table and says, "Amora," as if he's just swallowed a slime insect.

Amora wraps a lock of her hair around her fingers, tells Loki, "He is such a bore. It can't be his upbringing, you are plenty fun. Must be the Aesir blood, then. They are all so very dull." She rolls her eyes.

Loki laughs, but says, "Don't tease him, Amora. It is not his fault."

"Yes. I should perhaps be sucking fruit in a tent while men starve and die on the field." There is a hard, dangerous glint in his eyes, and it is time to stop, Loki knows this, but Amora does not.

Loki puts her wrist to his lips, says, "Quite enough, love," entirely without expecting her to listen. 

Amora smiles, a brittle, sharp thing. "It is reinforcements that I bring, Thor. What is the use of all your might if your army perishes in this heat." 

Thor spares a glance at Loki, and he shrugs. 

It is true: Amora is a useful ally when she chooses to be. But Thor will always be Thor. 

The veins in his neck pop out as he says, "Then I suggest you stop wasting all our time and prove yourself useful before my fist turns your face to dust." 

Amora widens her eyes, feigns offense. "Well, he is a wild one, as you said, Loki. I see you have not broken him in well enough. You should leave him with me, I will teach him." 

Thor surges forward as Loki rises smoothly to his feet. 

"Amora, it might be best if you left now." She is not careless enough to ignore the tone of his voice, or the curl of Thor's fists. A shimmer, and she is gone.

"I do not like that woman," Thor says, mild.

"She serves her purpose. You are just bearing a grudge because she tricked you in the mountains of Niflheim." 

"It was no mere trick," Thor says. "I lost good soldiers because of her deception." He starts to remove his armor, pulling the vambraces past his sleeves. 

The heat has done him good: his skin darkened to burnished bronze and his hair as light as spun gold. Loki cannot look at him without seeing the past.

He puts his hands on Thor's shoulders, digs his thumb under the armor to press against his collarbone, says, "She is necessary for now. When she ceases to be, then you can smash her face in." Thor watches him, eyes heavy-lidded and impassive, but when Loki sways forward to breathe in his scent he jerks away. Loki blinks, more in surprise than anything else. 

"I cannot bear the way you look at me these days."

"And how, pray tell, do I look at you," Loki says, sharpening his voice. 

"I never know who it is you see." 

"Fine, then win us this battle, and we can go home."

"Yes, my liege." Thor bows his head, but does not take a knee.

It is all Loki can do not to drive him to his knees himself, press him down into the dirt until he begs. It's this infernal heat, it's driving him mad. "Come," he says. "Have a drink at least, before you return to the battlefield."

Thor nods, and his expression slackens slightly. Loki runs his hands down his arms, feels the muscles tense under him. All that power, all that might. 

Loki steps away.

  

#### (Then)

Thor hunts when he is not training, in the darkest corners of Jotunheim. Always in search of that elusive beast that will prove to be a challenge to him. It has been a while since one has bested him: the last one broke his leg in three places and Loki threw a fit and threatened to keep him confined to the palace walls. He only relented when he realized that a Thor trapped inside is a Thor that will harass him incessantly, and after a while it was him chasing Thor away.

This time he returns with the pelt of an animal as pure a gold in hue as his own hair, wrapped around his shoulders. He strides into the throne room, where Loki's holding court, and beams at him. "I return," he says.

"Yes, I can see that, I'm hardly blind yet." A nod of his head, and everyone disappears, leaving them alone. "I see you have found your kin," Loki says, and yet there is a strange, harsh undercurrent to his voice. It is an undercurrent Thor has heard before, and with increasing regularity as well. 

"It tried to eat me," Thor says, striding forward, and up the steps to the throne. "Not the wisest of creatures."

Loki leans back, tilts his head up. "Must be a close relative, then."

"Possibly." Thor smiles, reaches out to touch Loki's cheek. Loki exhales, but does not move. Thor uses his free hand to unwrap the pelt around his shoulders, allows it to fall to the floor. He is bare-chested beneath it, and Loki's gaze travels downwards, from his shoulders to his waist to his legs, and his boot-covered feet. Thor finds himself trembling, but as Loki says often enough, he is foolish, and impulsive. 

Mostly foolish. 

As Loki watches, he drops himself gracefully into his lap, straddles him. Loki's hands come up to brace against his waist, hold him there, even as he says, "What are you doing?"

"I should think it's obvious what I am doing."

"You are barely past childhood yet, and you think that I would be -"

"You want me," Thor interrupts. He blinks, brushes his forehead against Loki's cheek. Loki's skin feels cool, but not cold. Not like everyone else's. Thor shivers slightly, repeats, "You do want me."

Loki grabs a fistful of hair and jerks his head back, until Thor hisses, fights the urge to strike back, give in to his warrior training. "Would you have me take you right here, then," Loki asks.

"I would have you take me wherever you chose." As an afterthought, he adds, "My king."

"Your brother."

"Not by blood, as you so often point out." He can barely breathe, but he can feel Loki's cock, hardening between his knees. Thor grinds himself down slightly, and Loki gasps. "Take me. It is your right."

There is a dark, gleaming triumph in Loki's eyes for the briefest of moments, but then it is gone, both from his eyes and from Thor's thoughts, as Loki swallows, says, "Not here. Not now."

"Kiss me, at least."

Loki sighs, and then obliges.

  

#### (Now)

Odin himself visits Jotunheim, turns his one good eye onto Loki without a trace of recognition. But he says, "Loki Laufeyson," as if he recognizes the name, and for a moment Loki can almost see the spell shimmering, threatening to burst. It passes though, when Odin nods his head. "I knew your father." 

"Murdered my father, you mean."

"Aye. But those were different times." 

"They were indeed." How is Mother, he wants to ask. How are those idiots who call themselves the Warriors Three. How fares the Lady Sif, whose disdain he somewhat misses. Loki's fingers start to ache, and he looks down, surprised to find that they have embedded themselves into the arms of the chair. Loki pulls them out and stands, makes his way down the steps, hiding his arms behind his back. "You dare come here, unguarded, seeking our surrender." 

"Seeking peace. An end to this war. We are not enemies, Loki." 

"You are an old fool if you imagine our people will ever not be at war, in some form or another." 

There are footsteps, heavily approaching.

"As if you would rest without seeing us all ground to dust," Loki says, and he cannot quite keep the bitterness out of his voice. 

"You speak as if you know me," Odin says. Steely, and Loki has heard it hundreds of times before: towards Loki, for acts of mischief, and less often towards Thor, for being driven by impulse. His spine stiffens automatically, and he almost forgets until Thor emerges from a side entranceway, helmet tucked under his arm. 

Odin's eye widens as he heads resolutely towards them. 

"You are Aesir," he says. 

"My brother, Thor," Loki says, as Thor replies, "No, I am not."

"You are Aesir," Odin says once again. 

"Thor," Loki says, because Thor might decide to very well ruin all of Loki's plans simply by losing his temper, "Leave us, please." 

Thor bows shortly, only the tendons in his neck showing what difficulty this causes him, and says, "Yes, my liege." 

"I should like to speak with him," Odin says, once Thor is gone. 

"Yes, and I should like to be taller, but we cannot always have what we want." He turns on his heel, says, "Walk with me." Odin is patient, falls into step with Loki and waits until Loki is the one to speak. "He is my brother. We are to leave him out of this." 

"I have heard rumors," Odin says. "The mortals sing songs, of the Jotun warrior that bears the face of the Aesir. Fair of skin and gold of hair - but he was always shielded from us, curiously enough. How did you come by him." 

"Are we here to discuss the treaty or trace the lineage of my brother? How he has come to be mine is no-one's business." 

"No, it is not. We shall not speak of it." He smiles for the briefest of moments. "Do not misunderstand me, Loki. This brings me hope." Loki moves out to the balcony, leans his back against it. Odin, speaking to him as if he is an equal. As if he is worthy. It should be a moment worthy of savoring, should bring him some satisfaction at least. But all he can think is: he is tired, his people are dying, and he wants this war to end.

His people.

"You shall have your treaty, Odin," Loki says. "Only fools revel in war."

  

#### (Then)

The giants Thor hunts with, the royal guard mostly, do so for sport. They tolerate him at first, because he is the king's brother, and so he works to make himself worthy. He is not as big as they are, but he has speed, agility, and a power he feels flowing under his skin, just waiting to burst free. "It is almost as if the thunder chases you," one warrior says, almost admirably, as Thor slices his sword through a large, mangy beast and lightning strikes, turning everything aflame. Thor tosses his head back and laughs, as it sings through his veins.

They rest in a circle afterwards, as the night is too treacherous for even the fiercest of warriors to brave. Thor is the only one that requires heat, but he refuses to ask for it, instead shivers under fur as they all settle in for the night. He is about to doze off when a child's cry cuts across the air, high and wailing.

"What is that," Thor asks, nudging the giant nearest to him.

The giant jerks awake, tilts his head up to hear. "A child," he says. "With any luck he will not last the night. I will never be able to sleep through the racket."

"You mean a child abandoned to die," Thor cannot quite keep the horror from his voice, is certain it is etched across his face as well.

"Yes, my lord," the giant replies, far more cautious than previous. They are all aware of how Thor came to be the brother of this king. "My lord," the man continues. "The child is obviously either deformed or ill. These are the only reasons why one abandons one's own kin."

"And that is somehow acceptable? Because he is weak he deserves to -" He rises to his feet, says, "This will not stand. Wake the others. Find this squalling babe and bring him to me."

It is a girl, wrapped up tight in her birthing cloth, stiff with blood. Thor holds her to his chest, but it is too late, she is already on the verge of death. A final, desperate wail and then she is still.

Thor weeps and weeps, and when he is done weeping he insists she is given a burial fit for the best of them, her body weighted down and sent to the bottom of a river to rest.

Loki says, when Thor returns, "I heard." There is a gleam in his eyes that Thor has no patience for, not today.

"This cannot stand," he snarls. "The death of a child, and for what?"

"The child was weak. If it had not been abandoned to die its parents would have suffered, and their other children would have suffered, and it would have died anyway."

"You do not know this for certain." He is practically shouting, but he does not care. "You are a runt, and so am -" Thor cannot finish: his eyes are burning.

"So that is why," Loki's voice is soft. "Because you were abandoned as a babe you feel affinity with the weak amongst us?"

"The Aesir are barbarians," Thor says, and he is tired. "Should we not be better than they are? What is the difference between us and them if we cannot protect our weakest?"

Loki reaches out, plucks a frozen tear from Thor's cheek. "You were abandoned because you were considered unworthy, not because your family would have suffered to raise you. That is the difference between us and them, Thor. Mercy comes in many forms."

"And your rescue of me, a useless Aesir, was that mercy as well?" His head hurts. His heart, even worse.

"You are not useless to me." Lokis smile is mirthless. "That is enough. As for mercy," his gaze softens somewhat. "I will send word, that those who abandon their kin will be punished. Would that make you happy?"

"Only if those that cannot handle the burden of care are offered aid as well."

"You have a soft heart, Thor. It will not serve you well. But I will do it, if only because I know you will not be happy until it is done." He sighs, his quietly aggrieved sigh. "It only matters that you are my brother now, not that you were not wanted then."

"Does it?" Thor cannot help but tighten his jaw. "I feel it will stop mattering when they are all ground to dust, and understand fear."

Loki's thumb returns to his cheek, and with a spark of gold all the tears melt, leaving him with a face wet and heated. "When you are ready," he says. "You shall have what you seek."

Sometimes Thor thinks all his brother does is lie to him, lie after golden lie. He cannot tell the truth from the half-lies and the outright fibs: Loki opens his mouth and whatever spills out is any story that he chooses to tell.

But this at least he believes: he will have his revenge, and Asgard will burn.

  

#### (Now)

Thor likes to stand at the edge of the river, and look out into the distance. When Loki walks to stand next to him he doesn't glance over. 

"Thor," Loki begins.

"This is unacceptable," Thor says.

"Go hunt in the cold of Niflheim. Kill a dragon. Kill two. You can come home after you've slaked your thirst for blood."

"It is not about slaking my bloodlust. You are well aware Odin is not be trusted." 

Loki can barely keep from rolling his eyes. It is the truth, and yet increasingly inconvenient that Thor believes it so fully, when there are so many years between now and any possibility of success against Asgard. "And do you see any alternative? Should we strike when we are already stretched so thin?" 

"No," Thor concedes. He crosses his arms and exhales quietly. "You are right."

Loki touches his cheek, murmurs, "Yes, I find that's often the case. If only it took us less time to come to the same conclusion."

"But when, then?"

"When the time is right. We have a peace treaty."

But Thor aches for war. More specifically, he aches for war with Asgard, promised to him before Loki's treaty. "I would not have made peace," he says.

"I have asked for your patience, Thor."

"And I have given it, have I not? Despite all the advantages we had, you insisted on the treaty." Loki keeps giving his reasons - Thor fails to see them. Why not press on? Why stay in Svartalfheim to decimate an already defeated race. Questions after questions: Loki tires of them, cannot give the truth because Thor will not understand even if he does. "You ask for plenty," Thor says. "You demand my trust, and yet fail to provide the reasoning behind your actions. You say there is a deeper purpose behind them, but have yet to prove it."

"And have I steered you wrong yet?"

"No," Thor says, and he finally turns his head. His eyes are still the brightest shade of blue Loki has ever seen. 

"You only need to trust me."

"I trust you," Thor says flatly. "We will hold."

"I am certain you will find sufficient enemies to slay during."

"Sometimes," Thor says, and his voice is distant, "I remember running along hallways gleaming with gold, someone else by my side. I dream."

Not by his side, Loki wants to say. He never could catch up with Thor. "You have always had those dreams. They mean nothing."

"No, I suppose they do not."

  

#### (Then)

A long, hard day of training is finally over, and Thor barrels down the hallways of the palace, in search of some sort of distraction, in search of Loki, if Loki is in the mood to indulge him. It does not happen often, but Thor always has to try.

He finds Loki on a balcony, otherwise occupied with a slinking, smirking female. 

Thor has seen Midgardians before, and even the occasional Aesir or Vanir, but none have dared to be so - intimate with Loki. He drops his training sword to the ground, and they both start at the noise and turn towards him. The woman says, "So this is the infamous Thor. You did not tell me he was so - small."

"He is but a boy, give him time. This is Amora, fair maiden of the land of the Norns."

"I am as much a boy as she is a maiden," Thor says, drawing himself up.

"I see your brother has not seen fit to provide you with manners. But I do enjoy them feisty."

Thor narrows his eyes at her, flush rising to his cheeks. "You are a wret-"

"That's quite enough, Thor," Loki says, and sounds thoroughly amused. "You run along. Amora and I have important matters to discuss."

Amora drifts forward, trails her fingers across Thor's shoulders. Thor flinches away, but even after he leaves, humiliated in exile, her perfume lingers on his skin.

She comes up to him afterwards, as he sulks in one of the kitchens. "I am surprised I even managed to lay eyes on you today. He keeps you well hidden. Such a shame, you would be handsome if you had some sun on your skin."

"He does not keep me hidden," Thor says, uncertain. Loki is not ashamed of him, he has never acted as such. But Loki is also a consummate liar, this Thor has learnt. He rarely offers the truth, and even then it is masked in lies.

"Perhaps it is just that he does not want to share you," says Amora, and Thor decides she is even worse than Loki.

She puts her finger under his chin and tilts his head up, murmurs, "I would not share you." Her perfume is intoxicating, and Thor sways slightly.

"Amora." They both jump at Loki's voice. "Come away, dear. You have done enough damage to the boy for today."

"I am not a boy, for the last time," Thor says, but he deflates at the withering glance Loki spares him. 

Amora takes Loki's arm, and they both walk off without once glancing back. 

It's merely curiosity that leads Thor to trail after them, a safe distance away. He almost loses them at some point, but hears Amora's lilting laughter, and rounds a corner to find her against a wall, Loki pressed against her. 

Thor shrinks back into an alcove, into the stale safety of shadows.

"He's sweet, your brother," Amora says. "What kind of deal did you have to strike for him?"

Loki hitches her legs around his waist, says, "Shut up," low and rough. "Do not speak of him."

"But oh, it is rather intriguing. An Aesir in the house of Laufey. Your father would crawl out of Hel itself."

Loki spins her around, his arm around her throat. They are almost out of sight now, but Thor can still hear them. Can hear Amora laughing, yet again. 

"Violence does not suit you, Loki." Thor wants to leave, wills his feet to move, but he cannot. "And do you have designs on -" There's a sound, the force of a body slammed against a wall. "I see the answer is yes." 

She sounds breathless, Thor can see the pale line of her neck as it is pulled back by her golden hair, the spill of it a sharp contrast to the dark of Loki's own.

"I will sew your mouth shut if you do not keep it closed," Loki says. "Or make better use of it."

"Oh, you do know how to speak to a lady," Amora says, and she tilts her head, and her gaze lands directly on Thor. Thor moves back even further, but it is no use, he can still see her eyes, alight with amusement and malice. 

They remain there for far too long, and when they finally wander off, Thor stumbles out into the light, and onto his knees. The air is thick with the scent of sex, and he feels slightly ill. 

And yet afterwards, in his chambers, his hand around his cock, he sees Loki, the low murmur of his voice and the cant of his hips as he drives into Amora, as he makes her moan and call out his name.

  

#### (Now)

In Alfheim, Loki says, "Have you heard of the story of the Serpent of Fear, and how Odin razed Midgard over to prevent him from laying waste to all the realms? There was a prophecy, you see."

"Aye, but I do not see your point." Thor has that fixed, glazed expression on his face again. The one he wears when he is tired of Loki, and wants to do nothing else but slake his bloodlust. "You promised me Asgard."

"It was also prophesied that Odin would have two sons, one light and one dark, and the conflict between them would bring about the end of all things."

"Ragnarok, yes. But Odin has no sons, and you are in an odd mood tonight." Thor wags a finger at him, and smiles. "Will you spit it out already, or am I to guess at what you mean to say?"

"You are my brother, aren't you?"

Thor's smile fades away. "Always."

Loki leaves then, because Thor is in no mood to be harangued and Loki requires desperately the sweet thrill of wills crumbling under the merest shadows of tricks. It is not the first time he has left.

Once, when Thor was younger and driving him crazy with his incessant, boundless energy, Loki had disappeared without a word, searched out Amora for fun and games. 

Amora had sneered, said, "You mope very prettily, Loki. Like a child in need of a good spanking."

Loki threatened to see all she loved gutted like fish, which only made her smile. "Good luck finding that which I would weep over." 

"Enough foreplay, Amora. I came here for some fun. Shall we start a war?"

"I thought you would never ask."

Midgard was always delightful. A rumor here, a false accusation there, and rivalries were stoked, kings recalled ancient grievances and searched for retribution. Loki should have had fun.

In all truth: before he was king, it was far easier to cause mischief without first considering the consequences. He could return home, for example, without half the kingdom clamoring for attention. Loki attended to all, even the minutest of problems, before deigning to see Thor.

Thor had practically stormed up to to Loki, he was so livid. "You have been gone for -"

"I know very well how long I have been gone," Loki said, distracted. "I do not need you to remind me."

"I see." 

Loki raised his brow. "You are still here?" 

"You were gone," Thor repeated with deliberation. "For over half a year." 

"The kingdom obviously did not crumble while I was not here. Did you assume the throne while I was gone? Did it fit you." 

"I -" Thor said. "We had worry. Helblindi assured me you were merely," and only Thor could manage disdain without a single change in expression or tone, "occupied elsewhere."

"I was," Loki replied. He had to clear his throat, to start over. "But I am back now. I will not wander off again without your being made aware."

They were merely words, to placate and disarm. Thor did not seem convinced, only nodded his head.

"Do you think me petty," Loki asks now. He was gone for merely a week, found himself wandering Midgard in abject boredom before returning back to Alfheim.

"My lord?" 

"Oh, you must be truly mad if you are this polite." Thor's face could be carved out of stone. Loki does not dare touch him. "I was only gone a week. And I returned, did I not? As I did the last time."

The time he spent away should have left him calmer, or at the very least somewhat less irritable. Instead all Loki can think is: how small all of it was. 

Instead all Loki can think is: a day did not pass without thoughts of Jotunheim, of Thor. 

"The last time you left for six months."

"And I promised I would tell you the next time I left, yes. Perhaps I should have just promised to return."

"Perhaps." And it might not be anger that causes this stillness in Thor's form, but tolerance. "Perhaps not in the middle of a war."

The hammer hangs loose his hand, and Loki can't help himself. He touches the outside of Thor's wrist, and Thor does not flinch, and he does not move away. His fingers wander down, past Thor's armor to the bare skin on the back of his hand. There is truth in his need: he cannot hide from it. 

"So it's inconsiderate you find me, then? Or careless? Do you think I do not care for our people, for our campaign?"

"What I think does not matter," Thor says. He buries a hand in Loki's hair, squeezes the back of his neck. "We need you, Loki. Your guidance, your presence. Do not leave again."

Loki pulls away. "Go," he says roughly. "I wish to be alone." 

"Yes, my liege."

  

#### (Then)

The female giants ignore him, mostly, as he flits around them, flirting ineffectually. 

"And what do you know of how to please us," one of them asks. She's taller than Thor, like all of them are, but not as much as the other giants. Her markings are beautiful.

"You should allow me to show you," Thor says, and winks at her. 

She laughs, and shooes him away gently.

At Loki's insistence, he has been forced to spend hours in the library each day - under Loki's tutelage when he is not occupied with running the kingdom, and having to endure the bored, watchful eye of Thrym when he is. 

Unlike Loki, Thrym does not care what Thor chooses to read, so long as he doesn't run off, and so Thor discovers that not all books are dry recountings of the glory of the Jotun empire and the great Jotun-Aesir war. How historians can make even war boring is beyond Thor. He reads books that are far more salacious than their covers would suggest, finds his thoughts drifting towards the girl.

He finds out, through judicious questioning of Helblindi, that her her name is Jarnsaxa. She is the only one that will spare more than two words for him, and so he pursues her, and he imagines she is charmed.

"What are you trying to do," she asks suspiciously, when Thor presents her with a bottle of clear ale, which he knows she favors. 

He cannot abide by the taste, but when she takes it from him he allows her to pour it down his throat, until he is woozy enough to drag her to the ground and kiss her. 

"Oh," she says, when she pulls away, touching her fingers to her lips. "You burn, like fire." 

Thor feels his eyes slip halfway closed. "Sorry," he slurs. 

"No, it is - you should -" 

He kisses her again, reaching clumsily for her breast. She gasps, but then pulls away, and when Thor attempts to get her back she shoves at him blindly. The force of it sends him into the wall, and he lands on his back, breath knocked out. 

"I apologize," she says, running forward to crouch over him. "You are so small." 

"I am not," Thor says, huffily. It is true though, Jarnsaxa is slight for a Jotun and yet she is still almost twice his size. "I will forgive you if you kiss me again." 

She shakes her head wildly. "The king, your brother, he would not stand for it." 

"He would not care." 

But Loki would.

"He does not have to know," Thor amends. 

"Am I to risk my life for this? I am not that fond of you, as sweet as you are." 

Thor sits up, groaning as his back aches. "You think me sweet?"

"I think you're a fool. And a child." 

"I am not a child." Thor grabs her and throws her down, squeezes her between his thighs. She can topple him easily, but instead she relents as he puts his hand on her throat. 

When Thor bends down to lick the side of her face, she shivers and says, "He will kill me. Do you understand?"

"He does not own me. Nor you." But he releases her, stands and helps her to her feet. "He does not own me," Thor repeats, helplessly, and her gaze turns faintly pitying.

"Of course he does, my lord. He is the king, and we live in service to him."

Thor turns his burning face away from her and punches his fist into a pillar, shards of ice cutting into his knuckles. He barely feels it, only watches as the blood freezes on his skin.

He remains in a foul mood past even the day, inflicting it upon everyone. Loki tolerates it for as long as he tolerates anything, which is to say not at all. Soon enough he is telling Thor, "If you insist on behaving like a common lout I shall treat you as one." 

He sends Thor to the pens where the bears are kept and fed, with instructions that he be kept busy shoveling dung at Loki's leisure. At least his righteous fury keeps him from feeling the biting cold, and the disgusting odors only cause him to wretch once or twice. 

"You get used to the smell," the caretaker of the bears tells him. He has been informed that he is not to help Thor, and so he sits with a struggling fish in his hands as Thor fights nausea and prays he does not slip on the mud.

"I am not a stable hand," Thor practically roars at Loki, when he visits. "I am a prince of Jotunheim and I will -" 

"You exist because of my generosity. Have I been too lenient and raised you an insolent, spoilt brat yet again?" 

"Again?" 

Loki shakes his head. "Just do as I command. That is all I ask of you."

He has that particular smile affixed to his face, the one where the only wise course of action for Thor is to keep very quiet. 

"And if I refuse," Thor says instead, dropping the shovel onto the ground. 

Loki merely turns to walk away, but pauses to say offhandedly, "That wench of yours who frustrates you so. What was her name again?"

Thor picks up the shovel.

"You should be more grateful for my benevolence," Loki says, before he continues on his way. 

Thor glares at his retreating back, then complains loudly, "I do not feel particularly blessed by his - benevolence." 

"Aye," the caretaker says. "He is a far more merciful king than Laufey. But you are family, and you are Aesir."

"What do you know of what I am," Thor says. He buries the shovel into a mound of dung and wrinkles his nose as some of it collapses onto his boot.

He does not see Jarnsaxa again, and the last he hears she has been married off to a distant noble and now lives happy and fat with child. In a fit of frustration, he accuses Loki of arranging the marriage, which leads Loki to roll his eyes and send Thor to shovel more dung: "For being an idiot." 

He visits Thor on the third day of endless, miserable drudgery, delicately pets the fur of a bear while Thor shovels and plots mutiny. "Do you really think I will be concerned enough with your petty infatuations that I would arrange for her union with someone else?"

Thor flushes. He doesn't know. It seems silly, now, that it would matter to Loki whom he chooses to lie with. Loki stops petting the animal and walks over, puts strong fingers on Thor's neck. "Think better of me," he says. But his eyes glitter when Thor turns his head towards him, and he steps back. 

"I suppose there are more suitable Jotun around," Thor replies, and watches carefully as Loki's face hardens, almost imperceptibly.

  

#### (Now)

The final campaign against Svartalfheim is long, and bloody, and their eventual victory even more sweet for it. 

Thor returns in triumph with their king's head. When he gets off his steed, he all but collapses in Loki's arms. Loki snarls, "Get him to my chambers." 

Thor is whisked off and Loki turns to follow, halted only by Thrym, "Your majesty." He nods his head to the gathered crowd, there to celebrate their victory. 

"I am in no mood to pretend that I care, and I am certain you can find some way to entertain them." 

He stalks off to find Thor on his bed, stripped to the waist and surrounded by scurrying healers.

"Get out, all of you." Thor tries to sit up. "Do not be stupid," Loki pushes him back down, and touches the wound on his ribs carefully. It is long and deep, and bleeding freely even in the cold. 

"It was as you said," Thor tells him, eyes half closed in exhaustion. "Their king, the keep, how best to defeat him." 

"And yet you still return wounded." 

A smile crosses Thor's face. "Even the best laid plans can be undone with a lucky strike. But I will heal in time." Loki cleans the wound as best he can, imbues magic in it to assist in the healing. But Thor is Aesir, and it does not work on him as it should. At least the bleeding slows to a sluggish crawl. 

"I think I will sleep for a year," Thor says. His breathing evens out and he falls into silence.

Loki watches him sleep for a while, before he leaves to find Thrym in the war room, a contemplative look upon his face. "This victory brings us ever closer to reclaiming what we lost."

"Yes, I suppose it does."

"You don't seem pleased."

"Don't I? You think I do not care for Jotunheim?"

"I think," Thrym says carefully, very carefully. "That you are a wise king."

"Come now," Loki says. He crosses his arms behind his back and allows a smile to cross his face. "Lies do not suit you, Thrym. Not like they suit me."

"Does it matter, what questions I may have? It has been centuries, and I have stood by your side, have I not?"

"You have."

Thrym takes his time to speak, says, "He is Aesir. He is of Asgard, yes? If we wage war - blood always calls to blood. Do you not worry, Loki?"

"Well, you trust him."

"But I am not you."

"So it is my failure then, that causes you to question me so."

"No, merely your lack of caution when it comes to him. That weapon of his - I cannot lift it, and neither can anyone else. It is powerful, and he is almost invincible with it."

It was momentarily lapse, Loki doesn't say. Because Odin did not see fit to give a gift he could not take back.

Because Loki is weak.

"He is my brother," Loki says, in the end. "That is all that matters."

  

*

  

[](http://whateverish.org/stuff/soundlessplace/Bang_Thor_web.jpg)

  

*

  

#### (Then)

Loki hates Jotunheim, this Thor learns, even though the land is far more hostile to him than it is to Loki. Thor does not understand why: Jotunheim is home, and home is always the place you hold the most dear. "Why do you hate Jotunheim so much," he asks Loki once.

Loki starts to respond, but then his face shutters. 

Thor has spent most of his free time exploring the land, uncovering all of her myriad secrets. He has drunk water from a crystal clear pool with seemingly no bottom, even as Thor dove in and tried to reach it. He has found violet flowers in a deep underground cave with a scent more alluring than any perfume. 

But Loki merely complains about the weather, and the food, and the vast, barren landscape.

"Do you not have better things to do than harass me," Loki says. There is a dark hue blooming under his face, and it is usually Thor’s cue to make himself scarce, but this time he drifts closer instead. Loki narrows his eyes. "This godsforsaken place," he begins. 

"But you were raised here, were you not? You are Jotun." Loki’s past, and ascension to the throne, is shrouded in mystery and conjecture. Thor cannot make sense of the pieces, cannot put together the truth, and even the history books provide only the scarcest of information.

Loki's lip curls up. "Yes, I am. Do you know what that's like?"

Thor shakes his head and flushes. 

Loki hums, then lays a single finger on his cheek. Thor stares down at himself as his body turns blue, the color spreading across his skin like a disease.

"I feel the same." 

"It's merely an illusion. You cannot change what you are." 

He touches Thor's chest, over the heart, and pink flesh spreads out from it, the Jotun disappearing as if it had never been there to start with. 

Thor catches Loki's wrist, says, "Stop it. I would prefer -" 

"It is not how I prefer you," Loki says. "Would you choose to be a common Jotun?"

"How much better is it to be Aesir, then?" 

"You are the king's brother, you are a prince. It matters not what skin you have." 

"How can we be brothers if we are not even blood?" Thor is weary suddenly, but Loki's eyes are a dark and dangerous red. He is barely listening as he presses his hand down harder against Thor's chest, and it is as if all the heat is being sucked through Thor's heart and into Loki's palm, as frost spreads outwards on Thor's skin and he is struck with a cold that goes deeper than bone. Thor staggers, but Loki then wraps his other arm around him and hauls him close. "Stop, stop," Thor says, but he is unsure if he is heard. There is frost in his mouth and his tongue feels frozen solid.

Loki releases him and Thor falls gracelessly to his knees, cold leaving his body only gradually. Loki disappears from view, returns with fur he wraps around Thor's shaking shoulders. "There," he says, voice mild. "Now you know what it is like to be Jotun."

  

#### (Now)

The night before they march on Asgard, Loki pushes Thor down onto the throne and presses his knee in-between his thighs, forcing Thor to look upwards. Loki cradles his face between his hands. 

"You seem bothered," Thor says.

"I am bothered by your lack of concern."

"You worry for my safety?"

"I have more concern for the well-being of the Jotun should you fail."

Thor's answering smile is bright, brimming with confidence. "Have I ever failed you?"

Only a thousand times before. Loki moves away. Thor leans back on the throne, and he could very well be king. Would be worthy of it someday, if circumstances had been different. "The throne suits you."

Thor laughs, a short, quiet bark. "I do not aim for it. The squabbling politics of running a kingdom would not suit me. Better it be your burden than mine."

"You should get some sleep," Loki says. "Tomorrow will be a long day."

"Aye."

Thor will wish to be alone, the night before he leaves for battle, and Loki will wish to be near him, feel his body tremble underneath his. There is no easy compromise in this. Loki touches Thor's knee lightly, then leaves.

Near dawn, they strike. 

Asgard burns. 

Loki watches, transfixed, as Thor lays waste to all. There is Sif, lying in a pool of her own blood. There, Volstagg, jovial no more, head separated from his body. Thor swings his hammer again, and again, as Loki walks next to him. Blood splatters on his face, and he wipes it away with a shaking hand. 

"Are you here merely to observe, brother?"

"I am here to make sure there is a kingdom left for us to rule."

Thor's hatred is so very bright, and so very pure. Loki cannot remember when he'd infected him with it. So very long ago, and it seems pointless now, for all that this is the culmination of every single one of his plans. 

Thor is the one that strikes Odin down, but Loki insists on finishing it. He leans over Odin's fallen body, whispers in his ear, "Do you know me, old man? There was a time I would have done anything to gain your approval. Anything at all. I do not need it anymore. Finally, I am free."

Odin laughs, a broken, blood choked thing. "Loki, son of Laufey."

"Loki, of Asgard." His lips hover over Odin's forehead for a moment, before slits his throat. 

Thor says, when Loki lifts his head, "You shed tears for him, brother?"

"Do I? Must be the ash from the fire." He swipes his hand across the back of his cheek. "How terribly sentimental of me."

"Indeed. How unlike you at all." Thor grins, and glances behind him. "Come, there is still much to do. I hear there is a vault, filled with treasures that rightfully belong to us." A shadow crosses his face when he turns back to Loki, but he says nothing more.

"Let us not waste time, then," Loki says.

  

#### (Then)

He's small compared to the giants Loki has him train with. But he was forged to be a warrior, and he emerges triumphant in combat, the giants all offering him their congratulations, their easy camaraderie. 

Thor bounds up to Loki as they return from the hunt, bubbling with elation and the thrill of victory - a minor one to be sure, but it is his first and the creature was twice his height and had teeth the size of his own arm.

His smile fades as Loki looks at him as if he were an iceworm gone bad. Thor starts to back away, one slow foot behind another, but Loki's arm snakes out. It's momentum more than anything that lands him in Loki's lap, their faces a breath apart as his arm is twisted behind him, a chill seeping through his bones.

"Do you imagine," Loki says, "that you are that special? That valued? Any mindless beast can kill. It is nothing to be so boastful over."

"I am the king's brother," Thor says, lifting his chin in defiance.

"Not by blood." Loki's hand moves in a blur, slicing across his cheek. The cut is so fine that Thor feels no pain, only the sudden heat of the blood flowing down his face. Loki rubs his forefinger and thumb together, smearing them both red. "Hardly of my blood," he says. "Not Jotun." He releases him abruptly, shoves him away in disgust. "Leave me."

Thor runs.

Out the great hall, out the palace.

He runs and he runs until he can't breathe, and then he runs some more. He doesn't notice the ground trembling beneath his feet, ice collapsing behind him as he thunders across it. It's sheer luck that got him this far, and stopping, finally, is what undoes him in the end. He turns around, a glimmer of calm finally breaking through the haze, to ascertain where exactly he is, how far he has travelled. He takes a tentative step forward, and the ground gives way, down down down, sending him tumbling along with it.

It's Grundroth that finds Thor, so Loki tells him, when he awakes in a warm bed, surrounded by fur. "You certainly weren't subtle in your tantrum." Loki's voice is light, but his eyes are a deep, worried red and there's a tightness across his jaw that Thor has rarely seen. 

"I'm hungry," Thor says. 

Loki gapes at him for a good, long while, before he shakes his head, and beckons to the footservants. 

They bring Thor meat, cooked as he prefers, but still cold. Thor doesn't care, he has never been this hungry in his life. 

"You are a foolish boy."

"Stop staring at me," Thor says, between bites.

"Do not speak with food in your mouth. It is uncouth." In reply, Thor belches loudly. 

Loki sighs, and stands to pace, wrings his hands as if he were a jittery maiden. He starts spelling out rules that Thor has already decided to ignore, even before he finishes listing them out. "You will not travel beyond the keep unguarded, I am to be made aware of your location at all times, no hunting until you regain your strength. No, no hunting, period. Thor - _Thor._ " He stops, and Thor stares wildly at him, a bone halfway to his mouth. "You will listen to me."

"Urk," Thor says, and continues to chew. 

Loki pinches the bridge of his nose. "Insufferable."

Thor grins.

He remains obedient for about as long as it takes him to recover. After that, he trails after any expedition that goes out, charming and sometimes deceiving his way into being allowed to tag along.

He was made for battle. He knows this, as certain as he knows when the weather will shift, even in perpetually icy Jotunheim. He knows this from the moment he picked up a spear and threw it straight into the heart of a thundering beast. He does not know fear, not during the hunt.

Every day he grows stronger still, and if Loki notices he does not seem fit to mention it, merely turning a blind eye whenever Thor returns, bloody and exhausted, blood rushing hot through his veins. There are rules he is supposed to follow, and he cheerfully ignores all of them, but watches Loki with care, for signs that he would make good on the threat he made once: to throw Thor into a well until he behaved.

He returns to his chambers late one evening to find Loki wandering around his sleeping quarters, trailing his fingers over Thor's few belongings. He touches a thick coat of fur, thrown carelessly over a trunk, lingering over the rough bristles. "Interesting. I was told these couldn't be killed."

Thor rushes forward, eager to share his exploits, but then pauses and offers, guardedly, "It was nothing much." Loki brings up his hand to cups Thor's face, traces his thumb along his cheekbone. Thor stills, and lowers his gaze. "I am sorry," he mutters.

"There is no need to apologize," Loki says. He raises his other hand, mirroring the first. "I have heard many things. You are growing into quite the warrior."

"I know you said -"

"Shh. I'm not angry." He tilts Thor's head back, and his breath on Thor's forehead is cool, and makes him shiver. "I was wrong. Not every mindless beast is as skilled in creating such carnage."

Thor leans in, unconsciously, for Loki to kiss his temple.

"You will lead my army one day, and we will rule over everyone in the nine realms. It will be -" he pauses. "Glorious."

  

#### (Now)

The fates beckon.

Loki has been putting it off for far too long. He brings Thor to Midgard, against Thor's protests. "Are we to invade them?"

"Not right now. I was contemplating more of a tour. Some sightseeing, perhaps."

"Sightseeing." Thor shakes his head ruefully. "I am not certain what has gotten into you, but I do not think I like it." They have not been here often. Loki more often than Thor, and Thor never without Loki. He has ensured that.

Loki books them into a hotel, while Thor stands around with a faint air of disdain surrounding him. Thor is uneasy, among people that look like him. He is equally uneasy with Loki reverting back to Aesir form.

Thor shoots him a look, and Loki says, "I forget, you dislike this form of mine."

"It doesn't suit me, no. I prefer you as yourself."

In the room, the best the hotel has to offer, he plies Thor with wine and food and lays him down on soft silk sheets, the better to map his body with his fingers, with his tongue. This is alien, now: his own skin as pale as Thor's, unmarked with runes. He is Jotun, he always has been. But he is of Asgard as well. It does not leave you. 

"What is wrong, brother," Thor asks, holding Loki's wrists in his hands and sitting up so Loki is straddling his lap. He releases Loki's wrists and wraps his arms around his waist. "You have been behaving oddly since we reached this place."

"Have I," Loki says. His voice sounds hollow to his own ears. "Must be the strain of maintaining this form."

"Then don't. No-one is here to see."

"No, we have places to go to. Get yourself ready." He almost cannot bear to untangle himself from Thor, so he buries his fingers in his hair and breathes in. Just a moment more, he can have that.

They leave after breakfast, after Loki watches Thor's face flickering with delight at the food, so new to Thor's palate. "Where are we going," Thor asks, as they head out into the bright sunlight. 

Loki doesn't use seidr to take them there, leads Thor on a leisurely stroll to the forest. "You will see," he says. 

Thor merely grunts in response. He follows Loki obligingly up the hill, into the darkened entrance of the cave. "Why are we here, Loki. Surely there are far better sights to see, or is this the best this realm has to offer?"

"It was good enough for the All-Father," Loki says, trailing his hands along the walls. They gleam faintly with old magic, still. "This is where you were born. The son of a god and Earth itself. No-one remembers. It is the greatest trick I have ever pulled."

Thor blinks heavily at him, staggering on his feet. He has turned pale, and he leans against the wall for support as sweat beads upon his skin, his breathing shallow and stuttered.

"You feel unwell because I have poisoned you. It is not permanent, do not fret," he continues, as Thor falls to his knees, his head bowing forward. "But I struck a deal with creatures the likes of which you have never seen - and they demand recompense. Creatures outside of time and space itself." He drops down to Thor's level, brushes his hair away from his face and lifts his head up, cradles it within his hands. Thor's eyes are half-closed, his face pale. "Thor, listen to me. We do not have much time. I will tell you everything."

  

#### (Then)

Thor's rooms are not made for him, and even with a mountain of furs to bury himself under he is often freezing, and the vastness of the space around him often makes it impossible for him to sleep. He rises once, finds himself wandering down hallways with a fur around his shoulders and trailing on the ground, alone save for the guards who spare him not a single glance. At Loki's chambers he hesitates, but eventually finds the courage to tell the guard, "I wish to see my brother."

The guard says nothing, merely steps aside for Thor to enter. Loki is flat on his back, and only the thinnest of furs lies across his waist, the rest pushed aside in a heap.

"Brother, are you awake," Thor asks, creeping up to him. "I'm cold and I cannot sleep."

Loki opens his eyes. "It's Jotunheim. Of course it's cold. Would you tell me you are hot in Hel as well?"

"I had a bad dream."

"Ah."

Thor hesitates briefly as Loki stares, but he cannot bear the thought of returning to his lonely room, so he wraps the fur tighter around himself and crawls onto the bed. He lies down with his back to Loki, but doesn't dare press himself against him. Loki says nothing. After a moment, he wraps an arm around Thor and drags him close, nestling him against his chest.

"You're warm," Thor says, surprised.

"No, I'm not. It's magic."

Thor lifts his head and widens his eyes. "Will you teach me?"

"It's not a skill that any brat of a child can just pick up."

"But you will teach me."

"I will only be wasting my time, and I have a kingdom to run."

"Someone else, then," Thor says, unable to think of anything else.

Loki sighs, asks instead, "What was your dream about?"

"Oh," Thor says, sobering somewhat. "There was a boy, he was my brother, but he wasn't you. I don't remember anything else, only I was scared." The warmth is making him drowsy, and he struggles to keep his eyes open. "Tell me a story."

"What kind of a story?"

"Any."

Loki begins, "There was once a prince. Handsome beyond compare, with strength rivaled by none, and beloved by all."

"What was his name?"

"Hush." Thor settles in, rubs his cheek against Lokis warmth. "But this prince was also arrogant, and conceited, and imagined that the realms would forever be his to reign over. He took those who cherished him for granted, did not recognize them as equal to him."

"He doesn't sound very nice," Thor says, and yawns.

"He -" Loki pauses, and there's an odd, fond tone to his voice. "He had his moments."

"What happened to him," Thor asks. But he can no longer stay awake, and he falls asleep before Loki can give him an answer.

  

#### (Now)

Thor believes him, every word, and when Loki's done, when he's spilled every secret he's kept for all these years, he is silent, and Loki cannot stand it anymore. "Do you not have anything at all to say?"

"So you have always hated me." His voice is hollow, and yet curiously unsurprised. Even here, in the dim light of the cave, he has the bluest eyes imaginable, for all that they are burdened with betrayal, with pain. 

Loki should feel triumph, revel in the victory, but his knees hurt and his vision keeps blurring. He wipes furiously at his eyes, says, "Yes. The golden son of Asgard, turned into the very weapon that destroys it. It is perfect." He allows his cheek to rest against Thor's, his heat reassuring, familiar. "I have waited for so long. Now you know what it's like to have been lied to your entire life. To have your very existence be untrue."

"But it is not," Thor says. He is fading away, swaying even on his knees. Loki has to hold him to keep him upright. Thor who is beautiful, the way all broken things are beautiful in their own way. "You are still my brother. I am still yours."

"We were never brothers."

"We are. You are not as good a liar as you think."

"It changes nothing. They ask for your life. It is the most valuable item I have to offer."

"And will you give it?"

"I -" Loki he intertwines his hands with Thor's, whispers into his ear, "You don't have to be afraid."

  

#### (Then)

The Jotun is standing in the armory, hands tucked behind his back. The guards are crumpled to the floor, and Thor thinks that he should not have listened to Loki. Should not have come back in here without Father.

Its eyes are demon-red, skin dark blue, but he is not a giant. He walks towards them and Thor can feel Loki's hand on his arm, hear his voice as if from a great distance. "Run, Thor," he is yelling. It is too late: the Jotun reaches them both, and Thor turns his head to look at Loki just in time to see him fall to the floor, his neck twisted at an angle that is not possible. 

There was a crunch, an awful, sickening sound, but it cannot have been from Loki. Someone is screaming as well, a deep and anguished wail. The Jotun crouches down in front of Thor, bundles him up in his arms. "It will be all right," he says. "Do not cry."

Thor struggles, but it is as if he is fighting against an immovable block of ice. "Loki," he says, and sounds pitiful to his own ears. "You killed my brother."

"He will live again, don't waste your tears. Now close your eyes."

Thor closes his eyes. He can hear yelling, someone is banging on the doors. Then: nothing.

He opens them again and he is in a giant room, walls glimmering faintly blue and ceiling so high he can barely see it. Food is offered to him, at the hand of a giant whose arm is the entirety of Thor’s height, and when he refuses, when he kicks out furiously and tries to recall some of the training that he has started, he is laughed at. 

It is a low, careless sort of laughter that nonetheless is booming enough that Thor claps his hands over his ears. "You ugly beast," he snarls. "Asgard will see your realm in ashes."

More laughter, and he is flicked, carelessly, across the icy floors of the room. "The Aesir have already done their worst," the beast says. "There is not much left to burn." 

Thor lands on his back, and does not move until a smaller face hovers over his. 

"You have upset my sister," the owner of the face says. "Typical. You always did have a way with women."

"She is your sister?" Thor says, struggling to sit up. "But you are so small."

"And you have not lost your charm on men as well, I see."

"I am very charming," Thor says, blinking unsteadily and allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. "Mother says so. But I have no interest in charming females, least of all giant, ugly creatures such as those."

The Jotun sighs, a pained expression coming across his face. "Helblindi will be devastated, I'm certain, to learn of your low opinion on her beauty."

Thor shakes his head, losing interest quickly in all talk of the giant female. He asks, "When am I to be released? I demand to be set free."

"No-one is coming for you, Thor. You have been forgotten, well and truly." The Jotun rises to his feet to pace. Thor moves away from him, slowly, until his back hits a wall. The Jotun stops pacing, turns his demon-gaze upon Thor. "You refuse to eat, and there is no getting you to listen. Fine then, perhaps we shall leave you alone for a while. We shall see how isolation suits you."

And then he is gone, form disappearing in a flicker.

Thor cries, for all that he has precious little tears to spare, when the Jotun finally reappears. 

He does not know how many moons have passed. He had at first cut his finger on a sharp piece of ice and wrote it against the wall for each passing moon that he saw through the roof, but he put his bleeding finger to his mouth once and the copper taste of it had been intoxicating, and he had not wanted to stop.

He left it, after that. Let the days come and go, laid on the furs and stared up at the sky. Even the ice would not melt under his hands after a while.

The Jotun says, "Are you ready to cooperate now?" 

Thor barrels into his chest, the last of the energy that he has to spare. Arms hesitate, before they come up to embrace him. "There, there," and it is almost affixed with kindness. "Come. You must be starving."

The Jotun says his name is Loki. Strange, as that is his brother's name. But it seems but a distant memory now: the snap of a delicate neck and the thud of a small body as it hits the ground.

"The food is good, yes?"

It is not anything Thor has ever eaten before, and he had fumbled, earlier, as it wriggled and he could not summon the coordination to grab it. The Jotun had to assist him, squeeze its head between his fingers until it stilled some before offering it to Thor, who opened his mouth obediently as it was thrust down his throat. Thor choked, but the Jotun covered his mouth until he swallowed.

"Fit for royal consumption only, or so I am told." the Jotun says, as Thor tries, with little success, to grab another morsel. "Come," he says, with slight impatience. "I shall feed you, or we will be here forever." He lifts Thor into his lap and wraps an arm around him to hold him there. Thor almost starts to weep once again, as he burrows into the embrace, as cold as it is.

He says his name is Loki, son of Laufey. Thor has a brother named Loki, but he is no Jotun.

"I am not your enemy, Thor," Loki murmurs, and his breath against Thor's temple is oddly warm, oddly familiar. "Do not be afraid."

  

*

  

[](http://whateverish.org/stuff/soundlessplace/Bang_Vault_web.jpg)

  

**Works inspired by this one:**

  * [[Fanmix] (love, love will lead you by the hand)](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1030231) by [A (mumblemutter)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/mumblemutter/pseuds/A)
  * [[ART] Into a White and Soundless Place](https://archiveofourown.org/works/1030285) by [Carthl](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Carthl/pseuds/Carthl)




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